


existentialism on saturday night

by crunchrapsupreme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Car Sex, Erejean Week, Erejean Week 2015, First Dates, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3665031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchrapsupreme/pseuds/crunchrapsupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a few moments of blissful silence, Jean takes a swig of his drink, taps Eren’s foot with his shoe, and says,</p>
<p>“You know, if you wanted me to take you to the winter formal so bad, you could’ve just told me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	existentialism on saturday night

**Author's Note:**

> i combined erejean week prompts 'winter' and 'first date' because work and school has me so buSY IM JUST combining prompts now whoops

It’s freezing outside, and the swing creaks loudly when Eren slowly drags his feet across the ground, half-heartedly pushing himself back and forth. His fingers have gone numb gripping the chain, and he suddenly regrets not bringing gloves. He suddenly regrets a lot of shit, like why he felt the need to come here and fucking _brood_ like an idiot, in the almost-freezing weather.

All because of some dumb winter formal.

He doesn’t know why he’s so upset (he does), and he doesn’t know why he feels the need to treat it like a heartbreak when there wasn’t ever anything mended in the first place. False hope, he supposes. It’s not like he hasn’t been fucking Jean for a good while now, the least he could do is ask Eren to the fucking _winter formal_.

Which throws Eren back onto the train of thought that _I’m just there for sex, he doesn’t want anything more, okay. That’s okay. Neither do I._

It’s hard lying to himself, but he’ll get better, with time.

The sound of shoes crunching on gravel causes him to jump and look up from his lap, and when the moonlight casts light onto the figure walking towards him, Eren bites his lip, tries not to scowl.

“Hey,” he mumbles, dragging his toe against the ground, swinging idly. His fingers are so stiff he’s not sure he can remove them from this chain. He’s probably going to be stuck here forever, they’re probably going to have to cut off his hands and Eren shivers, clenching the chains tighter, feeling flakes of rust rub off on his palms.

“Hi,” Jean says, and when he’s close enough, Eren can see the clothes he’s decked out in; black slacks, a nice, crisp dark blue button up shirt and a thin tie. A blazer finishes off the look, coupled with the tousled, pushed-back look of his hair,  and Eren’s fingers itch with the need to mess it up.

“Why aren’t you at the school?” Eren asks, because it’s only been an hour since the formal started, and surely it isn’t over yet, right?

Jean shrugs. “It wasn’t anything spectacular. Connie and Sasha got caught trying to spike the punch and so they were booted, so there went my only source of entertainment for the night.”

Eren thinks about Jean,sitting at a table alone. He thinks about someone walking up to the table and asking him to dance. He thinks about how Jean looks like he’d be a really good dancer, smooth and even and on beat. How if Eren stepped on his toes, Jean would tease him but still hold him close, closer even.

The sound of a grating squeak signals Jean having taken a seat in the swing next to Eren, and Eren shivers when a small gust of wind flutters around them. His fingers are white with how tight he’s gripping the chains of the swing, and he can smell Jean’s cologne from here.

“You been out here long? S’fucking freezing, dude,” Jean mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets and swaying a bit on the swing.

Eren shrugs, and Jean sighs.

“What’s up? You’re being all broody, man.”

“Fuck off, I’m not,” Eren hisses, finally, _finally_ managing to pry his fingers away from the chains. His knuckles crack, but he doesn’t feel it because his hands are numb as fuck, and he trembles as he attempts to rub them together to get some warmth. His fingers are shaking, and he doesn’t notice he’s making small, distressed noises until he hears another squeak, Jean having turned his swing towards Eren, and then a pair of large hands are cupping both of Eren’s.

“Holy _shit_ , you idiot,” Jean exclaims at the coldness, slowly rubbing his thumbs in circles on Eren’s hands. Jean’s hands are warm, well, at least warmer than _Eren’s_ , and Eren makes another noise, attempting to tug his hands back. Jean glares and holds on tighter, doesn’t let go, and eventually Eren slumps in defeat and bumps their knees together, turning his swing to face Jean fully.

“I don’t get you, sometimes,” Jean says, voice careful as if he’s approaching a timid animal about to bolt. Eren supposes that’s true, but he can’t exactly go anywhere because Jean’s gripping his hands almost tight enough to hurt.

“Go back to the formal,” Eren mutters, averting his eyes. “I know you’d rather be there, anyways.”

“ _God_ ,” Jean breathes out, annoyed, and he hooks his ankles around Eren’s, tugging him until their legs are sandwiched together, and then he’s letting go of Eren’s hands and reaching up, running his long, comforting fingers through Eren’s disheveled hair. “I didn’t leave because Connie and Sasha got kicked out. I left because _you_ weren’t there.”

Eren blinks. “What?”

“Oh my god, you’re so dense,” Jean whispers, and then he’s leaning forward, pressing dry, cool lips against Eren’s, and Eren lets out a shaky exhale, sliding his almost-thawed out hands inside the opening of Jean’s blazer, splaying his palms against Jean’s shoulder blades, feeling them shift beneath the thin material of his button up. Jean sucks on his bottom lip, his other hand not buried in Eren’s hair cupping the side of the boy’s neck. He runs his thumb feather-light across Eren’s jaw line, and when they finally separate, both of their cheeks are pleasantly flushed.

“So,” Jean says, tugging gently at Eren’s hair. “Wanna get out of here?”

\--

They end up at Taco Bell, and in the bright lights of the restaurant, Eren gets to see how _good_ Jean really looks. The pale moonlight didn’t do him any justice, and Eren swallows dryly as they both walk up to the counter.

“What do you want?” Jean asks, digging out his wallet, and pulling out a few bills. “Don’t get anything too expensive, I’m but a broke highschooler.”

“I - um. What?” Eren says meekly. “I can pay for myself, you ass.”

Jean rolls his eyes and turns to the cashier. “Just get us two crunch wraps and two medium sodas, please. Oh, and an order of cinnamon twists.”

He hands the girl his cash, and Eren wants to protest, wants to say _fuck you, I didn’t even want a crunch wrap_ , but that’s a fucking lie because Eren’s gotten a crunch wrap supreme every time he’s gone to Taco Bell for the past three years. His stomach flips a few times when he thinks about the fact that Jean probably remembered that insignificant fact about him.

They sit down after grabbing their food and drinks, and Jean’s immediately digging in, unwrapping his food and taking a bite. Eren’s stomach is churning and he’s slightly afraid he’s going to puke all over the table if he eats anything, but he takes out his food anyways, slowly picking at the tortilla, distracted.

After a few moments of blissful silence, Jean takes a swig of his drink, taps Eren’s foot with his shoe, and says,

“You know, if you wanted me to take you to the winter formal so bad, you could’ve just told me.”

Eren chokes on his cola, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he glares at Jean, kicking him none-too-gently in the shin, satisfied with the way Jean grunts in slight pain.

“I _didn’t_ want to go, let alone with _you_. Dances are fucking dumb, anyways,” Eren mumbles, and Jean smirks, knocks their knees together under the small table because _fuck_ Jean for always being able to read him. Eren’s like an open book, always having had trouble hiding his feelings, and Jean knows exactly how to worm in there and pick out the information he wants.

“Okay, whatever you say,” Jean says, taking another bite of his food and casting them in silence once more. Eren just grumbles something unintelligible before finally working his way through his own food. Stupid winter formal. Eren didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to be _asked_ to it, like a goddamned dame, and he _certainly_ didn’t want to press his nose to Jean’s neck and dance with him in a room full of judgmental teenagers.

After they finish eating, Jean drives him back to the park, where Eren’s car is, and when they pull up to the curb, Jean turns his car off and turns in his seat to look at Eren. Eren clears his throat and wrings his hands together, says quietly,

“Uh. Thanks for the food, man.”

Jean smiles a little bit, whispers, “C’mere," and then he’s gripping Eren’s chin, turning his head enough to be able to slot their lips together. Jean’s lips are much warmer than they were earlier, and Eren pliantly opens his mouth wider, letting Jean lick along the sharp points of his teeth. Eren breathes out a quiet noise against Jean’s mouth, a hand coming up to grip Jean’s wrist, not pulling it away, just holding. Anchoring himself with the faint thump of Jean’s heartbeat beneath his thumb.

Somehow, they find their way in the back seat, Eren sprawled against the seat with Jean looming over him. Eren wraps his legs around Jean’s waist, forcibly loosening his stupid skinny tie so he can unbutton the first few buttons of Jean’s shirt, and then he’s latching his mouth onto the taller boy’s collarbone, sucking a nice red mark into the skin.

Jean groans above him, sliding a hand up Eren’s hoodie to splay over his ribs, and Eren wonders if Jean can feel the rapid fluttering of his heart; a bird trapped in a cage, anxious and vibrating with release when it finally calms down, slowing to a steady _thump-thump_ as Jean kisses him again. Eren has this thing where he gets weirdly desperate, like he’s afraid whatever’s happening will vanish, and Jean always has to coax him into calming, soothe him with his tongue, slow him _down_.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jean whispers, kissing down Eren’s cheek, his jaw, his neck, and Eren shivers under him, bucking his hips up when Jean’s fingers skate over the front of his pants. “M’gonna take care of you, okay?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Eren wheezes, but his face is flushed, almost glowing, and Jean just grins, working the button of Eren’s pants open and tugging down the zipper.

Eren moans and arches his back when Jean strokes him a few times, twisting his wrist and running a thumb over the head. “Want you to fuck me in that suit,” Eren breathes, and Jean chuckles, licking a stripe up Eren’s neck before placing a soft kiss against the boy’s temple.

“Maybe later,” Jean says, and it sounds like a promise.

Eren comes with a quiet whine, hands fisting the back of Jean’s stupid dress shirt, and Eren’s loose limbed and pliant, a little lazy, so Jean just rolls his eyes before kissing him again, sloppy and wet as he grinds against Eren’s thigh, groaning into the boy’s mouth when he releases inside his slacks.

“ _God_ ,” Eren breathes out, throwing an arm over his eyes and biting his lip, and Jean frowns, nipping his nose affectionately.

“What?”

“We’ve been sleeping together since freshman year, and our first real date was fucking _Taco Bell_.”

Jean snorts, tugging Eren’s arm away from his face so he can see his eyes, glittering like tinsel in the moonlight streaming through the windows.

“Fine, next time _you_ chose the fucking restaurant,” Jean retaliates, flicking Eren in the forehead before helping him button his pants back up, and Eren bites his lip on a grin, ducking his head a bit, because _next time_ , yeah, those are definitely a couple words that cause his heart to skip a beat.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://crunchrapsupreme.tumblr.com)!


End file.
